Work Text:
When the Professor asked Marianne to dance for the White Heron Cup, she hadn't anticipated that she'd still be dancing during the War, let alone for private shows.
It is a good way to enhance troop morale, said the Professor, and Marianne hated to disappointed them.
She is incredibly popular with the troops, in part because of her bashfulness and in part because of her nubile body. Men and women alike fought for a front-seat view. At first, Marianne found it difficult to perform - especially in such racy outfits - but over time, she began to enjoy the work. War was hard, and Marianne liked that she was able to help relieve stress.
Usually, Marianne danced for common soldiers in the great hall or at the tavern. They were easy enough to entertain, and due to her noble status, they did not usually get too handsy. Most nights, Marianne would go to the local tavern flanked by Yuri and Balthus. She would perform her sets to raucous applause, the blush high on her cheeks as she shimmied and sashayed; somehow, though, it was less intimidating to dance for people she'd never see again, and Marianne would leave every night with pockets filled with gold. These proceeds went into the Kingdom's war chest for food and supplies, and it made her happy to know that she could contribute meaningfully in other ways than her white magic.
Sometimes, she danced for a private audience. Many of these were intimate encounters that made Marianne blush to recall, usually nobles and merchants who could afford a private lap dance or three. Sylvain was a frequent patron, and he paid well for extras.
"You really know how to make a guy's day, Marianne," says Sylvain now as she rolls her hips in languid lewd loops, his hand on her waist and another cupping her left breast. The front of her dancer's robes are undone, her nipples are puckered in the cool evening air. Sylvain's her second event for the night, having spotted him in the crowd at the local pub during her first set, but Marianne isn't tired at all. She continues to dance while straddled across his lap. Marianne braces a hand on the nape of Sylvain's neck and leans back to give him a full show, and he groans in desire and appreciation. Although Marianne isn't seated directly on him, she can feel the radiating heat of his desire and see the hard outline of his cock in his trousers. Sex with Sylvain is a relatively regular occurrence, but he is surprisingly vanilla for a man who touts so much experience.
Dimitri, on the other hand---
A shiver runs up Marianne's spine as Sylvain flicks his thumb across her pebbled nipple, and then he leans forward to catch a drop of milk that had leaked with his tongue. She runs her hands up her waist and to cup her right breast. Sylvain's mouth follows her direction, licking and sucking as she gyrates against him. Dimly, she hears him moan as the first gush of milk bursts in his mouth and he begins to suckle, gently at first, his lips and his tongue brushing over her swollen rosy bud again and again until he begins to lose himself, rutting against her thigh like a beast in heat.
Marianne still remembers the day her milk came in with perfect clarity; her fingers had barely closed around Blutgang when she felt her Beast Crest activate, and then she felt her blouse soaked through. Dimitri, an elixir halfway to his lips, froze; the Professor cocked their head with a curious clinical expression. Years of training had taught Marianne to read her Professor's unspoken words, and so, with trembling hands she unbuttoned her uniform blouse to reveal her dripping tits. The rest of the Army was still somewhere deep in the woods, nowhere to be seen nor heard.
"Interesting," the Professor said, tilting their head to the side. Then, they motioned for Dimitri. "Come. Take sustenance from her."
Marianne's head tips back at the memory of Dimitri's huge hulking mass pressed against her, his warm wet mouth working the milk from her tits. She cried out as his huge girthy cock filled her with a sudden savage thrust, filling her and stretching her so completely Marianne though she would burst, and he took her with like an animal in heat over Maurice's still form. He'd taken her twice under the watchful eye of the Professor, the first time with the intensity of a beast and the second so tenderly she nearly burst into tears.
"Ah!" Marianne cries out, returning to the present once more when Sylvain buries one finger, then two, then three inside her heat, scissoring her open to prepare her for his length, but there's no need -- she feels a flare of pride at Sylvain's sharp intake of breath when he realises that Marianne's so deliciously turned on from dancing for him that she's already dripping wet. She dimly registers the metallic clink of his belt, and then she is gasping as he fills her to her core with his hard heat.
Sylvain groans as he sheathes himself fully in her, and it doesn't take long until he has Marianne panting and seeing stars from the way he manages to hit her sweet spot again and again and again. Marianne's hands fist in his hair and squeeze at the nape of his neck, her dance now taking on an entirely different rhythm.
She meets his thrusts with the roll of her hips; Sylvain's face is buried between her leaky tits, and he presses tender kisses against her skin. They don't kiss, they never do, but Marianne doesn't need it -- an electric jolt runs up her spine as he thumbs circles against her clit, teasing her to the brink for the first time that night.
"Sylvain, I--" Marianne chokes on a moan when her walls clench down on his hard cock. She doesn't hear if he calls her name or another's, but it doesn't matter -- the look on Sylvain's face is enough to send her over the edge, and then Sylvain is pumping his hips harder and faster, chasing his own release now that the finish line is in sight.
With one last thrust, Sylvain sends Marianne over the edge; he crams his fingers into her mouth to muffle her shriek and then his hips stutter and he groans, and Marianne can feel his hot seed spilling inside her. They stay like that for a few moments, breathing hard, Marianne straddled across his lap and Sylvain sprawled back in his seat, both of them sticky with sweat and milk.
Eventually, Marianne peels herself off of Sylvain and begins to fix her azure dancer's robes. They are stained with milk and cum and her own slick, and there would be no question when she walks out of the tent what exactly had transpired within.
Sylvain watches her with a lazy smile, not bothering to dress himself, and Marianne can see that his cock is half-hard again.
"I suppose you have another show booked tonight?"
"Yes," Marianne feels her face flush at the wolfish way Sylvain looks at her, and she lowers her eyes to the ground. He chuckles at her bashfulness, and pulls her between his thighs, nudging the silk fabric of her dancer's robes aside to expose one breast; Marianne's hands fist in his red hair as he brings his mouth to her, licking and kissing and biting the delicate skin hard enough to mark. She imagines Dimitri unwrapping her robes like a delicious morsel to find evidence that Sylvain had been here just moments before.
"Lucky bastard," Sylvain hums as he nips one final bite against her breast, though he doesn't look very upset. Marianne knows he'll find someone else to warm his bed soon. He fixes her robe and gives her a firm smack on her round ass to send her on her way.
The evening air is fresh and cold on her skin when Marianne steps out of Sylvain's tent. It is a quick affair to wash up and change, and then she finds herself standing outside of the King's quarters. Gooseflesh rises on her arms and her neck, and her cunt throbs with anticipation at what surely awaits her inside, she looks down to see that her white robes are already stained and sheer with milk; Dimitri is insatiable, and she knows from experience that he'd wring spasms of bliss from her body until dawn, until there was nothing left from either of them to give, until Marianne was delirious and near-dead with pleasure.
Marianne takes a deep breath and steps inside.